


A Story Told In A Timely Manner

by TimeCloneMike



Series: Don't Trust The Flower [4]
Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: And Chickens Obviously, Blink And You'll Miss It Reference To Previous Abuse And Neglect, Bob Ross Reruns, But Trying To Keep A Lid On It, Chicken Soup, Chills, Doctor Office Visit, Fever, Flowey Is A Little Bit Of A Cactus, Frisk's Brain Does Not Handle Overheating Well, Gen, Happy Little Trees, Made With Love And Magic, Occasional Descriptions of Physical Symptoms, Toriel Is Worried, flu season, goatmom is best mom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-04
Updated: 2018-02-04
Packaged: 2019-03-13 07:50:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,664
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13566090
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TimeCloneMike/pseuds/TimeCloneMike
Summary: Frisk has the flu.Nobody is happy with this.





	A Story Told In A Timely Manner

Toriel's eyes opened, staring up at the ceiling.

For a few moments, it was not at all clear what had woken her up. There was no light, no sound, and no memories of nightmares of any dreams at all... and then, muffled by distance and several walls, there was the sound of retching.

_'Frisk.'_

The bed covers were immediately thrown off of the bed, and the queen got to her feet in a matter of seconds, opened the bedroom door, and immediately saw the light shining out of the bathroom in the upstairs hallway. Toriel slowly walked towards the bathroom, but quickened her pace when another sound came from the room, followed by coughing and gasping.

“Frisk?? Are you alright?”

Turning the corner, Toriel saw Frisk leaning over the toilet bowl, shaking hands gripping the edge-

_-Chara's hands shook as they clutched the bucket, red pouring out of their mouth-_

“Mom??”

Toriel blinked and the phantom image disappeared, and she found herself staring at Frisk, looking up at her with tears trailing down their face.

“Frisk, are you...?”

“It won't stop...” Frisk turned back towards the bowl and their whole body convulsed as it tried to reject what was in their stomach, which was not much. A diet of primarily monster food saw to that. Even so, what was present was being rejected violently, and eventually Frisk leaned back, gasping.

“I can't breathe... I can't breathe...”

As if Frisk's words were some sort of secret password, Toriel rushed forward, green light surrounding her paws. They immediately recoiled upon contact with the child's head; Frisk was burning up.

“Gonna die, gonna die, I don't wanna die...”

Toriel's paws touched Frisk's back, moving in circles, and the green light covered them... and the child relaxed slightly, until another wave of nausea hit and the child lurched again.

“I am right here Frisk. I have got you. It is going to be okay.”

“...don't wanna... it hurts, it hurts...”

“It's going to be okay, Frisk.” Toriel blinked, trying to keep the tears that had built up from making their way into her fur. “I have you. It's alright. I promise.”

 

“...yes, when can you fit us in for an appointment... yes, it is Frisk... they have a fever, but are also shivering as if they feel cold, and last night they were vomiting profusely... I see...”

Toriel's voice seemed like it was coming from far away, or underwater.

“...I understand. Thank you. We will be there soon. Goodbye.”

There was the sound of footsteps, and then the sensation of movement.

“Frisk? Are you awake?”

“Wuu.”

Frisk's eyes opened a crack, then immediately squeezed shut. Their head ached, their whole body ached, and they were freezing despite being wrapped in what felt like several blankets.

“I have just made an appointment with the clinic, that they may take a look at you.” Toriel's paw rested on Frisk's head and started to move back and forth. “How are you feeling this morning?”

“...c-c-cold.”

“You are shivering quite a lot. Do you think that you can change out of your pajamas, or do you require assistance?”

“...d-don't know.”

“...do not worry, then. I will get you upstairs, and then you can try while I call Papyrus to see if he can give us a ride. And if not, we will find another way.” Toriel's paw was removed from Frisk's head, and the child immediately felt the queen's arms around them, lifting them up. Frisk managed to pry one eye open and saw that they had been lying on the living room sofa before, though they could not remember how they had gotten there.

It took the mattress giving way beneath them for Frisk to realize they had dozed off, or gone into some sort of trance state, in the short amount of time it must have taken Toriel to walk upstairs and into Frisk's bedroom.

“Here you are, my child. I will go call Papyrus now, and when I get back we will take things as they come, alright?”

Toriel stood up and walked out of the bedroom, pulling out her cell phone as she did so, and Frisk blinked a few times before their eyes turned to the wardrobe that housed all of their clothing. Sliding off their bed, Frisk flinched as their feet touched the floor; even through socks, it felt like they were trying to walk on ice, especially because the shivering and shaking was making it hard to consistently move in a single direction.

One hand, wrapped in the blanket that surrounded them, managed to grab the knob and pull the door open. One sight in particular grabbed their attention immediately, a thick sweater on a hanger. Perfect for staying warm against the all consuming chill they felt. A shaking hand snaked out from beneath the covers, reached up, and tried to lift the sweater off of the bar inside the wardrobe, but only produced a rattling noise. The child grit their teeth in frustration as much as an attempt to keep them from chattering, and climbed up on the edge of the wardrobe to get better leverage... which slowly began to tilt with the change in weight distribution.

_'Bad idea bad idea BAD IDEA'_

Frisk managed to jump off of the wardrobe and out of the way of the falling furniture, landing heavily on sore muscles and followed by a resounding crash.

“What on earth?!”

In a matter of seconds, Toriel appeared at the bedroom door.

“Frisk, are you alright?? What has happened?”

“...g-g-g-gravity is n-n-n-n-n-not my friend-d-d-d,” Frisk managed to force past their shaking jaw.

Fuzzy arms carefully picked up Frisk.

“I am sorry, I should not have left you alone. Here,” Frisk was deposited on the bed again and Toriel picked up the wardrobe, setting it upright, then picking up the door itself. Frisk's eyes gravitated towards the hinges, which sill had chunks of wood attached to them with screws partially protruding through them, and the child turned to look at the corresponding gaps on the wardrobe itself.

“Perhaps... perhaps we should not further tempt fate. Come along. We shall get you into your coat, and then I will attempt to call Papyrus again.”

“...ok-kay.”

 

“Alright, let's take a look down the hatch.”

Frisk opened their mouth and stuck their tongue out, and the doctor shined a flashlight back at their throat.

“Oh, that _is_ pretty red. Alright... I can tell you're running a fever from here but let's get an exact number.” The doctor stuck some sort of probe in the child's ear, which eventually beeped, and was removed. The plastic cover on the end was detached with practiced motions.

“One hundred and one point five Fahrenheit. Not good, but could be worse. Okay. It's flu season and you have flu symptoms but what I want to do next is get a sample swab and run that through the incubator to make absolutely sure.”

“...okay.”

The doctor pulled out what looked like an extra long cotton swab in a sterile container, broke the seal, and held it up.

“Now, this is going to feel a bit like I'm trying to stab your brain but don't worry, I've done this plenty of times. Having said that, let me know the instant you feel any pain just in case there is another problem we haven't found yet.”

“...alright.”

Five seconds later, Frisk was sneezing profusely as the doctor carried the swab out of the exam room.

“Dr. Therrick, is that normal?”

“Oh, definitely. I'll be right back as soon as I get results.”

The door shut, and Toriel ran one paw in circles over the child's back.

“Everything is going to be alright, Frisk. I promise.”

“...mom...”

“Yes? What is it?”

“...I can. I can fix the wardrobe door. But. Not like this. Too shaky. No focus. Also. I think it wants to kill me.”

“...well. All furniture related issues can wait to be addressed when you are well once again.”

“...okay. Thank you.” The child sneezed again, several more times in succession, then grabbed some tissues from a nearby box and held them over their nose.

“I thinkg I feld pard ob by brain fly oud by node.”

“...I do not think that is what happened.”

“Oh. Okhay.”

For a minute, there was only the sound of the buildings heating system and the buzzing of the fluorescent lights in the ceiling, until the door opened again.

“Well, I have good news and bad news. The bad news is that the test came back positive. Frisk has the flu. And we can't kill a viral infection like a bacterial one, we can only wait it out. The good news is because we know what Frisk has, we can mitigate the symptoms long enough for them to recover on their own.”

“That is good news. What must be done?”

“Well, the biggest concerns we have right now are fever and muscle pain. I don't want to put Frisk on aspirin or derivatives because of Reyes Syndrome, but there are some over the counter fever reducers that you can pick up that should be safe. I'll write down a list for you along with safe dosage limits. Also it's hardly my area of expertise but have you been using healing magic on Frisk?”

“Yes... I attempted to heal them last night. It... did not seem to help.”

“Id helbd,” Frisk interrupted. “Ebryding...”

The child paused to sneeze again and grabbed another handful of tissues.

“Everything... was sore. Last night. From puking. Green magic. Made it not sore.”

“Well, guess there's that. If it's not been evaluated by the FDA, I can't prescribe it... but there's a _lot_ to be said for the curative properties of a mother's homemade chicken soup.”

“I see. Thank you, Dr. Therrick.”

“Yeah.” Frisk sniffed again. “Thanks.”

 

The window pane rattled as yet another pellet slammed into it, and Flowey's expression turned from annoyed to genuinely confused. While the exact response from Frisk tended to be different each time they woke up to the sound of bullets hitting their bedroom window, they _always_ responded. That was a constant.

While Flowey appreciated novelty and deviations from the norm, he had learned after an hour of fruitlessly trying to get Frisk's attention that there was at least one major exception that rule.

Vibrations came from the street, which would not ordinarily be significant, except that the pattern of the vibration was familiar to the flower; specifically, the engine of a convertible car owned and driven by a skeleton fixated on pasta and puzzles. Flowey burrowed beneath the snow to the soil, made his way to the front lawn, and then surfaced.

“Thank you so much for your assistance today, Papyrus.”

“ANY TIME YOUR MAJESTY! I AM HAPPY TO BE OF ASSISTANCE!”

Flowey watched as the queen opened the passenger side front door and carefully climbed out at a peculiar and likely uncomfortable angle, in order to keep her horns from puncturing the convertible's top. She immediately opened the rear passenger door and pulled out a bundle of fabric in both arms.

“I apologize, I am unable to get the vehicle door with my arms occupied.”

“NO PROBLEM!” Papyrus held up a gloved hand and the door was surrounded with a blue glow, snapping shut. “LET ME KNOW IF YOU NEED ANYTHING ELSE! AND FRISK, I HOPE THAT YOU FEEL BETTER WITH ALL POSSIBLE HASTE!”

Flowey blinked. _What_ did Papyrus say??

“I believe that Frisk has fallen asleep, but I suspect that they would appreciate that sentiment very much if they were awake.”

“'m awake,” came a muffled voice from somewhere beneath the blankets. “Jus tired. 'n cold. Thanks Papyrus.”

“YOU ARE WELCOME FRISK! I HOPE TO SEE YOU IN BETTER HEALTH AND HIGHER SPIRITS VERY SOON!”

“Workin' on it.”

Toriel turned as Papyrus drove away, and stopped short as she finally saw the bright yellow petals standing out in a world of white snow.

“Flowey? What are you-”

“Flowey?” There was a rustling of fabric and a head managed to poke its way out of the blanket, eyes narrowed to slits turning towards the flower. “Oh. Hi.”

“Where have you been? I've been knocking on your window for an hour!”

“Doctor. Got the flu.”

For a moment the flower creature stared at the human child.

“...what.”

“Yeah. It's not great. I think our weekend plans are wrecked. Sorry.”

“Are you... are you _sick?_ ”

“Yeah. Fever, chills, aches, coughing, puking.”

“But- how did- you can't-”

“Flowey, I apologize, but I must get Frisk indoors where it is warm.” Toriel walked past the flower, who burrowed down into the ground again, and then emerged next to the front door steps.

“Frisk, if you die I _swear_ I'm gonna kill you!”

“Okay. That's fair.”

“Good! Glad we understand each other!” Flowey vanished beneath the earth once again, and Toriel stared at the hole left behind for a few moments. Her first instinct had been to rebuke Flowey for his insensitivity toward Frisk's condition, but Frisk's response implied there was some sort of a rapport there. And the longer Flowey talked, the higher the pitch of his voice became as well... it was a puzzle that could be solved later. Toriel managed to pull out her keys, unlock the front door, and carry Frisk inside. The door was shut, and the child was carefully deposited on the sofa.

“I will go get some lunch started for us both, okay Frisk?”

There was a nod from beneath the blankets, and yet Toriel hesitated.

“Would you like for me to get you something before I head into the kitchen? A book, or the television remote, or would you like to listen to the radio show?”

“...'m good. Just gonna. Rest a bit.”

“...alright then.”

 

“Now I'm going to take a little bit of the Phthalho Blue, maybe add a little white, and get just the corner of this brush...”

Toriel looked away from the images on the television screen to check on Frisk, something she already did so frequently that an outside observer might remark that her head was mounted on a swivel. Frisk's eyes, though half lidded, still focused on the picture of the human with the pronounced curly hair and beard tapping a canvas with a brush. One hand continued to hold a half empty bowl of steaming chicken soup, while the other hand clutched a spoon.

“And you can work on this as long as you want, and you won't believe what you can do until you just try it...”

“I must say, this Bob Ross is not only skilled with a brush, his voice is quite soothing too.”

“Yeah. It's called ASMR. Autonomous... Sensory Meridian Response.” Frisk looked down at the soup bowl, carefully picked up some in their spoon, and swallowed it. “Bob Ross, Bill Nye, Fred Rogers. Before... before Asgore. They were three of the four television icons that served as father figures for me. Or, well. Reruns of their shows, anyway.”

Toriel turned towards Frisk again, eyes wide, but Frisk was focused on the screen once more.

“Bob Ross always told the viewers to experiment, to try new things, to see what happens if you did it a little different. It was more than just creativity. It was the courage to try in the first place. That was what he taught people. Children. Adults. Didn't matter. Anyone can create if they try. And anyone can do better... if they just try.”

“...and you mentioned two others?”

“Right. Bill Nye taught science. Not just what we know. But how we learned what we know, and how to see it in action. Every episode had at least one experiment. Sometimes more than one. Bill Nye didn't just teach knowledge. He taught kids to teach themselves and learn with their own senses and reasoning. So what he was really imparting was wisdom, as much as any scientific fact. And Mr. Rogers... he made a whole generation of tv viewers his neighborhood. He showed that a big world didn't need to be scary. That there was stuff to find and explore, and new people to meet. New friends.”

Frisk paused and managed to swallow another spoonful of chicken soup.

“Wisdom, courage, and friendship,” Toriel mused. “It was a good idea of humans to broadcast programming to impart those virtues in their children.”

“Yeah...”

Frisk went silent, focusing on the TV screen again, and Toriel turned to see the artist tapping another brush into a new mixture of pigments.

“And so often we avoid it, the ole two inch brush, because it's so big. But it'll do fantastic things if you just give it a chance...”

A few moments later, Toriel turned back to Frisk. “I am sorry, you mentioned three of the four television figures who were influential. Who was the fourth one?”

“Optimus Prime.”

“I see. And what did his show teach?”

“Honor.”

“That, too, is an important virtue to teach children.”

“Well, the show was mostly to sell toys.” Frisk shrugged. “Life is weird like that.”

The spoon clinked against the bottom of an empty bowl, and Toriel reached over. “I will go get you some more soup, if you are hungry.”

“Uhm... yes, please. And thank you for. For, you know. Making it. Can't remember if I said that earlier.”

“You did.” Toriel smiled. “But you are very welcome again, my child.”

Toriel stood up from the sofa while Frisk's arms retreated back under the blanket surrounding them, and their focus returned once more to the television.

“See, there's no end to this. You can make as many different things as you can imagine. You're only limited on this piece of canvas by your imagination. 'Course, I believe that's your only limitations in life as well, it's just your imagination. Because anything that you can conceive in your mind and you believe, I think you can do it.”

 

“Frisk. Frisk, wake up.”

“Ngh.”

“I know you need your rest, but I need you to wake up for a moment. Then you can go back to sleep, I promise.”

The sleeping figure stirred slightly, and Toriel placed one paw on the child's shoulder, gently moving it back and forth.

“Frisk, it's time for you to take your pills.”

No response.

“Frisk?”

“Mmn.”

“...Frisk, if I have two pills in one hand, and one pill in the other, how many pills is that in total?”

“...three...”

“Okay.” Toriel smiled. “If you took the first three pills at one PM, and you are supposed to take them again every four hours, and you need to do so now, what time is it Frisk?

“Time.” Frisk's head shook and their eyes opened, but did not focus. “The heart of a mechanical clock. Is the hairspring and balance wheel. Combined with an escapement mechanism. They create an oscillating closed circuit. All timekeeping is multiples of the same oscillation. The pendulum escapement was invented by-”

The child's eyes suddenly focused.

“Where am I.”

“You are home, Frisk.”

“Oh.”

The child turned to look at Toriel.

“I know you. You're my mom.”

“That is correct.”

“...am I adopted?”

Toriel stared at the child, then nodded. “That is also correct.”

“That would explain a few things. Is this my bed?”

“Yes. And this is your bedroom.”

“Okay.” Frisk tried to sit up, but collapsed back on the mattress halfway through.

“If I sit up. I'm going to throw up.” Frisk swallowed. “Actually never mind. I think I'm going to. Throw up anyway. 'Scuse me.”

The child threw back the covers, and Toriel moved out of the way as the child ran to the bedroom door, then ran down the hall. There was the sound of retching, and Toriel walked out into the hallway in case Frisk needed help. Eventually the sounds of sickness were replaced with the sound of a toilet flushing and hands being scrubbed under a sink, and not long after, Frisk appeared in the hallway.

“Do you require help, Frisk?”

“...am I still me?”

“Yes?”

“Okay. My head hurts.” The child's walk started to lean in one direction, until they were touching the hallway wall itself, leaning their forehead against it.

“I _hate_ being sick,” Frisk growled, the anger in the child's voice so sudden that Toriel almost jumped in surprise. “Nothing makes sense and everything hurts.”

“...that is the purpose of this medicine, Frisk.” Toriel walked over to the child and knelt down, holding out a handful of pills one one massive palm pad, and gripping a glass of water in the fingers of the other paw. “Here. These will make you feel better.”

Slowly, a shaking hand grasped the pills and Frisk put them in their mouth, and grabbed the offered water glass immediately after. Once the pills were washed down, Frisk stared with unfocused eyes at nothing in particular.

“Mom?”

“Yes?”

“Monsters can't get sick, right?”

“We have a handful of magical ailments, but we cannot catch human diseases. This flu is not something that can harm me, or any of your friends.”

“Good.” Frisk took a hesitant step forward, then a few more with greater confidence, until they were close enough to wrap their arms around Toriel's neck.

“Thank you. For. For taking care of me. Today. I know. I know that it had to... that it was... gross. And kind of. Threw your plans for the weekend. Out the window. So... it means a lot. To me. That you're still here.”

Fuzzy arms wrapped around Frisk.

“My child, where else could I possibly be right now?”

The hallway was silent for a few moments.

“Salem.”

“What-”

“Capital of Oregon. County seat of Marion County. Third largest city in Oregon after Portland and Eugene. Founded in 1842. Established as capital of the Oregon Territory in 1851. Incorporated in... this isn't Geography class. _U_ _uuugg_ _g_ _hhh_ _h._ I'm _still_ sick.”

Toriel carefully stood up, holding Frisk.

“Lets get you back to bed, my child.”

“...okay.”


End file.
